


Some Nights I Always Win

by Xyriath



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, cavity inducing fluff, that and jetlag, that's all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-02
Updated: 2013-05-02
Packaged: 2017-12-10 04:28:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/781779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xyriath/pseuds/Xyriath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a friend who needed just a ton of Brujay fluff.  Hope you get your cavities, Cornfley.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Nights I Always Win

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cornflakepizza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cornflakepizza/gifts).



He sees the Bat.  The Bat doesn't see him.

 

Jason knows that he should be in a hurry— _is_ in a hurry, needs to get back soon, but he can't resist stopping, taking a moment to watch the man.  The way he leaps from a rooftop, the flawless landing and simultaneous disabling of two men, the rest rapidly following.

 

He's said it before, but it's something he knows in his being: he'll never stop loving watching the man work.  It might at times have been mixed with intense hatred, but that had never been the entirety of it.  Could never be the entirety of it.  He will never not love the way his arm pivots and swings to catch a hapless thug under the chin, the impeccable stance grounded so firmly that a man nearly as large as Batman rolls off of him like water and splats gracelessly into the pavement.  Will never not love the tension in his muscles and the rise and fall of his chest and the heat of his breath—

 

Jason pulls back further into the shadows as Batman finishes, not a scratch on him.  Christ, he's beautiful.  In the back of his mind, he appreciates the fact that despite his unwavering obse— _interest_ in watching him, he's at least moved up to a pair of pants that make said interest much more… manageable, and much less evident.

 

But he needs to go.  The adrenaline that hits him each time this happens fading, he sags against the wall, closing his eyes for a moment.  He kind of wants to fall asleep right there, thinks about it for a moment, about the safehouse that is warm and ready and waiting.  Jetlag from a job would do that to you, ruining whatever was left of the cosmic joke that was your sleep schedule as a Bat.

 

But no, he needs to go.  It's late—or early, whichever you preferred.  He had gotten lucky, gotten back to Gotham before Batman—he can't think of the man as anything but right now, not after seeing that—had gotten back from patrol, but he knows that he doesn't have much longer before that is no longer the case.

 

He pushes himself off of the wall, heading east determinedly and pretending that he doesn’t feel like falling over.  Once he's out of sight, he figures his parkouring along the roofs of 121st street won't be noticed by anyone important.  He tries not to dwell on kicking himself for accidentally blowing up his bike two weeks ago, right before he left for Singapore, but is only marginally successful.

 

He decides, however, when he nearly falls facefirst into the street at 121st and 133rd, that he should probably walk on the ground instead.

 

It takes less time than he expected to get to his destination, he thinks, but isn't quite sure.  It's more of a challenge to get into Wayne Manor: hopping the fence isn't the difficult part, but avoiding its ungodly levels of security most definitely is.  Luckily, he knows every last detail, has studied it inside and out for both innocuous and nefarious purposes, and he is one of about five people who can manage the task.  Its owner isn't home, not yet, but Jason knows that Alfred is and avoiding him is just as important.

 

Over the wall.  Through the grounds.  To the house itself.  Up the wall and through the window, avoiding alarms all the way.

 

He learned from the best, after all.

 

He glances over at the clock.  It shouldn't be long now…

 

And then the doorknob turns.

 

Jason's breath catches and he pulls back, out of sight for a moment as the man walks into the room.  After his ears catch a few more steps, however, he rounds the small corner, slipping out of the shadows with a grin and a breathy "Hey."

 

It's stupid, surprising the Bat like that; he knows it is.  But the dramatic side of him—one that was inadvertently fostered by growing up with a man who ran around dressed as a Bat and isn't made any better by his own preferred getup—can't resist.   He at least knows what's coming, so he can avoid getting any teeth knocked loose or especially painful bruises, but he doesn't dodge the grab fully.  In fact, he watches, almost lazily, as the arm pivots and swings to slam him back into the wall; watches him brace himself for a retaliation that will never come.  After the immediate impact that knocks the wind out of him, he allows himself to tilt his head and admire the tense muscles in his arms, the bare chest rising and falling.  He smirks, looks up, eyes Bruce.

 

And it's Bruce now, his Bruce, not the Batman; he's out of the cowl and the cape and the body armor.  Jason meets his eyes, still grinning but now breathless, and he's not sure if the thrill is all Bruce or if it's a little bit of sleep-deprived mania working its way in there, too.

 

"Jason."  Jay can feel the rumble of Bruce's deep voice in the arms pinning him to the wall, which are already relaxing and pulling back.  There's an inappropriate quip to be made here, Jason's sure of it, but fuck if he has the energy for it, since all that he does have needs to be spent on more important things.

 

He just acts to brush himself off.  "The one and only."

 

"But you weren't supposed to be back until—"

 

"Tuesday, yeah."  The grin is hurting his face now, and it's an effort to keep it cocky instead downright beaming.

 

He thinks that Bruce is about to say something else, but he doesn't give him the time.  Besides, Bruce has put too much distance between the two of them.  Reaching out to slide his hands around the back of Bruce's neck, he tugs him forward several inches again, pressing their lips together.  It takes about a fifth of a second before Jason is pressing the rest of himself up against Bruce as well, and he's so caught up in the sensation of finally being _held_ again that for a moment he completely misses Bruce's arms wrapping around his waist and holding him so tightly that he can't breathe.  After all, it's not an unfamiliar sensation when around him, whether or not there's a physical reason for it.

 

He hears Bruce moan into the kiss, long and low, and Jason's hand slides up the back of his head, burying his fingers in that hair.  Jason notices that he's showered; can feel the slight dampness now and giggles—no, chuckle—slightly against Bruce's lips.

 

"What is it?" Bruce asks, breaking the kiss.  Jason lets out a little irritated and sulky noise that was most definitely _not_ a whine and buries his nose in the hollow of Bruce's throat, sighing deeply.

 

"Nothing," he mumbles.  "Dunno what you're talking about."

 

"You were giggling—"

 

"I was _not_ giggling!"

 

"That was most definitely a giggle."

 

Jason pulls his head back to glare up at him, but the subtle glint of suppressed humor shaping the lines of Bruce's face don't let him keep it up for long.  He feels his traitor lips spreading into a grin again, and gives Bruce a tug.  He knows that Bruce could have had him pinned again in nothing more than a moment, but he goes along with Jason, and Jay laughs as they tumble together onto the bed.  It's this burst of energy that allows him to kick his shoes off, letting the boots thunk onto the ground.

 

They end up on their sides, facing each other, and Jason is worried that his grin has turned almost manic by the slightly amused, slightly concerned smile on Bruce's face.  Jason just wants to fix it, of course, so they just end up kissing again, legs and fingers tangling and Jason unable to keep from laughing as they kissed, varying long and short, slow and quick, sweet and passionate, rough and tender.  Somewhere, Jason can feel Bruce's hands working, sliding off Jason's jacket, then the shirt and leather pants, leaving him just in his boxers.  It's when Bruce rests a hand on Jason's bare waist and he doesn't react that he pulls back, raising an eyebrow.  Goddamn him and those perfect eyebrows.  It wasn't fucking _fair_.

 

"How long has it been since you've slept, Jason?"

 

Jay blinks up at him for a moment, brain trying to reorient from "makeouts" to "discussion."  Slowly, a smirk spreads across his face.

 

"I dunno.  I mean, not sure if I can count that high."  He laughs again, not sure why it's as hilarious as it is.

 

He hears that longsuffering sigh, the one that always makes him want to _mess up_ that dignified composure, usually in the most inappropriate way possible, but not tonight.  Tonight, if he's going to be honest, all he really wants to do is—

 

"Sleep, Jason.  Your jetlag is making you loopy."

 

Jason huffs at him, debating arguing.  But given that he can't remember exactly what arguing is, he figures that it might take more energy than he's willing to spend right now.

 

"You smell nice," Jason sighs, forcibly wriggling his way into Bruce's arms.

 

"Thank you."  And there it is, the awkward pat on the back.  Jason chuckles, sleepiness finally winning its battle with a jaw-cracking yawn.

 

There were probably good-nights exchanged somewhere along the line, covers drawn up, kisses exchanged, but really, as Jason drifts off to sleep, there's only one thing—one person—in the world that matters right now.

 

Jason's asleep by the time Bruce tucks him in, and so he misses the rest.  He doesn't feel the way Bruce's fingers trace across his face, play with his hair, skim down the scars on his back.  But there's something, at least, that he can feel, since he rolls even closer to Bruce, still fast asleep.

 

And Bruce just holds his boy closer and smiles.


End file.
